Real Anniversary French Toast

Today is our anniversary. Not our wedding anniversary, but what I call our "real" anniversary - the day seven years ago that kicked off a very special weekend. It all began after work on a Friday night with a company happy hour at the Cactus Club on Boylston Street. I had seen Dylan around, but we'd never actually talked to each other until that night, when over two frozen strawberry margaritas with salt, and some good conversation, the magic started to come alive. I had an immediate and overpowering feeling of belonging with this person, which is what led me to stay by his side for an evening on the town with work friends, a tour of his apartment and family pictures, and a drive in his silver Jetta through the Boston mist to drop me back at my house. Friday night then led to Saturday night - a game of pool and then out to sushi, which led to a Sunday spent apple-picking together. All with someone I'd just spoken my first words to 48 hours earlier. The strangest part of it all was that when we were together, suddenly nothing else outside of the "us" that was created mattered quite as much to me. Something big had changed in my world by the time I went home from the apple orchard on Sunday, dropped off by a person who I really just didn't want to leave. I followed my instincts from there...and a friendship, a partnership, a devotion, a marriage was born.

Here we are seven years later to the day, eating cinnamon French toast to celebrate an anniversary that recalls for me a magical day - a kick-off to the biggest beginning I've ever known.